


pull me from myself again

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes)



Series: me sobbing about critical role [77]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arrogance, Awkwardness, F/M, Frumpkin (Critical Role) is an Emotional Support Animal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Kittens, Mission Reports, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threats of Violence, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, adorable children, alley sneaking, brief description of malnourishment (for the feral cats), dunamancy, light classism, stray cats, zemnian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18537091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife
Summary: The goblins never come. Veth lives a happy, peaceful life with her husband and son. At least, until the Cerberus Assembly comes knocking at her door. They send one of their best students to keep watch over the family.Veth doesn't quite know what to make of Bren Ermendrud.





	1. forget myself alive

**Author's Note:**

> title from sea wolf's "dear fellow traveler"  
> premise from @saltwaterwarlock: okay. but. the shit with the goblins doesn't happen, and veth is still happy at home when the assembly people show up at their doorstep, asking (ordering?) yeza to work for them. veth is Not Happy and gets major creep vibes from them, but the man they send every few weeks or so to check up on them is only an asshole on the outside. in quiet moments, he does little magic tricks for luke and feeds stray cats and scratches old scars on his arms. and veth resolves to become friends with bren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited: jun 14 2019

When Bren arrives at his assignment, he cannot help but be disappointed. Master Ikithon had made it sound- well, important. Highly classified, vitally important to the war effort. He’d pictured- well.

Bren wasn’t sure _what_ he’d been picturing, but a small, family run apothecary on the outskirts of _Felderwin_ of all places wasn’t it.

He can feel eyes on him, and it doesn’t escape his attention, the blinds slapping into place just as he looks at them, the abruptly quiet street corners he turns onto. He is a very clearly marked outsider here, in his pristine red uniform, with the sigils on his sleeve that denote his status as a magic-user, an ( _almost_ ) member of the Assembly. His ignores it, and strides to the door of the ‘Brenatto Apothecary’ and readies himself for an afternoon of dullness.

* * *

 

Veth is already in an irritated mood when she hears the knocking at the door. She doesn’t like these people from the Assembly, doesn’t like the oily feeling their compliments give her or how they stare at her son just a little too long to be polite. When she’d invited them to stay for dinner they _refused_ and hadn’t even bothered to make an excuse! Veth didn’t rightly care how hoity-toity an elf you were, it’s just plain _rude_ to dismiss someone’s invitation like that!

(Not that she wasn’t relieved that they were going, but _really_ , everyone knows to have an excuse prepared if you don’t want to stay for dinner!)

She opens the door, perhaps with a bit more aggression than is explicitly necessary, frown on her face only growing when she sees the uniform. It’s a human, and he’s standing so stiff she’s worried his seams are going to pop. Before she can say anything, he steps inside.

She has no choice but to step back, irritation growing, and he speaks.

“You are Mrs Brenatto, I take it?” he says, and he’s got a bit of an accent she can’t place.

“I _am_ , and this is _my_ home. Can I _help_ you?”

She doesn’t bother keeping the annoyance from her voice. He’s young, a boy, clearly not the same rank as the others who have visited them. (She’s not the greatest at reading human ages, but he almost seems- too young? He has a baby face, reminds her of Luke, a little- she brushes the thought from her mind. _He_ barged into _her_ home, and he works for _Them_ and that's all that’s important right now.)

He almost seems to blush at her words, but it’s gone from his face almost immediately as she notices it. She dismisses it as a trick of the light.  

“I am Bren Ermendrud, and I have been assigned to monitor your husband’s progress, on his… assignment. Where is he?”

She begrudgingly leads him to the workshop, where Yeza’s finishing up a small batch of healing potions. Her husband looks up as they enter, surprise visible on his face as he notices their guest.

“I- oh! Hello? I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon. Is there- um, something you need? Or-?” he pushes his glasses up nervously.

* * *

 

Bren eyes the halfling in front of him. Again, not what he’d imagined a scientist working on distilling the empire’s greatest magical advancement in _decades_ would look like. His hair is an average brown color, his sideburns an overgrown mess, small, even for a halfling, from what he’s seen, and apparently prone to a nervous disposition.

“I am Bren Ermendrud. I have been sent by the Assembly to monitor your progress on your assignment. You will give me weekly updates, and I will pass them on to my superiors. Should you choose to start working against the Empire’s interests at any point in time, I will be the one to take… _appropriate action_.” At this, a small, but intensely hot, flame appears in his hand.

Yeza flinches and drops the (thankfully empty) vial in his hand, and Veth jumps. The look on Bren’s face is cold, but for a second she thinks she sees- regret? Shame? _Something_ , at least,  flash in his eyes. But then it’s gone, and he strides out of the workshop. As she bends down to help Yeza clean up the glass- no need to risk Luc getting into it- she has one, important thought. _What a dick_.

* * *

 

It occurs to Bren, moments after stepping out of the workshop and snuffing the flame from his palm, that he does not actually know the layout of this house. He decides to wait in the living room- although, technically, he supposes it is also the kitchen? There is no wall separating the two, and it reminds him of his own childhood home, with the-

He suppresses that line of thought ruthlessly. That home is nothing more than ashes, now, and he is not here to ruminate on his past, he is here to ensure the loyalty and success of an Imperial asset. It doesn’t take long for the halflings to join him.

He spends the next few hours compiling his own report of Yeza’s progress so far. It is less that he doesn’t trust Lady DeRogna’s information, and more that he prefers to inform himself. They are briefly interrupted when a child- theirs, presumably, runs into the room and hops onto Yeza’s lap. Yeza speaks to him in halfling before picking him up and walking him from the room. He hears a rushed conversation- he really should learn the language, given his assignment. A thought for later- and then Yeza returns.

It’s a longer walk than he would prefer to the lodgings that the Assembly has acquired for him. As soon as he enters, the conversation stops, and most, if not all, eyes turn to him. It’s incredibly uncomfortable, but Bren swallows the feeling and heads upstairs. He falls asleep at the rickety desk in the corner, report halfway edited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from sea wolf's "miracle cure"


	2. follow in the footsteps of some beautiful beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: graphic description of burning alive

_The fire is hungry and uncompromising, consuming the brittle wood mercilessly and leaping, reaching, for him. Screams ring in Bren’s ears, over and over and over, deafening him. He can feel the rivulets of blood dripping from his ears. He feels the flames crawl up his arms, lick at his neck, feels the burning, the_ **_searing_** _, but he can’t move. Can’t scream, can do nothing but watch the bodies of his parents melt in front of him. Horror etched onto their ashen faces, glaring at him with condemnation. The smoke chokes him and he is burning,_ **_burning_** _._

* * *

 

Bren wakes up with a start. He doesn’t remember the nightmare, as usual, just the feelings- the horror, heat, regret- and the bitter taste of ash in his mouth. He gets up, washes his mouth out in the bathroom down the hall- cramped, built for beings half his size, shabby, but he supposes it could be worse-, and pulls on his uniform, staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes are blue, and clear. They are not haunted. They hold no ghosts, they hold _nothing_ but strength and loyalty to his Empire. It is just barely after sunrise, and he supposes he needs an early start to finish the report anyway.

He finishes and sends it off with a courier in less than an hour, and then he is stuck in a cramped room in a run-down inn, feeling as though his skin is too tight, too hot- itching and scratching and scraping at him- and utterly refusing to think on why that may be.

Finally, after the discomfort becomes too much, he decides a walk is in order. A way to burn off this excess energy, because that is all it is- excess energy, from being cooped up. His magic, requiring use. Nothing more.

He wanders the town, memorizing routes. He is vaguely thankful for his prodigious mind, because it’s a maze. He would’ve thought the agricultural center of the Empire would be… _more_. Taller, fuller buildings, wide streets bustling with people, a constant din. Instead, it is a hodgepodge of building styles, of cramped streets, of overly familiar vendors on the street handing bits and bobs to children.

Nothing like Rexxentrum at all. ~~Is that good?~~

It reminds him of Blumenthal, in a way, the passing familiarity everyone seems to have with one another, the fields of corn and other crops tall enough to hide a human child or an average halfling that cover the horizon, ~~small foot-shaped indents on wooden fences and the yelling of a farmer who is several apples lighter, now~~.

The blatant mistrust of outsiders.

He does not miss it. He _does not_. His life is better, now, Rexxentrum is better, and Blumenthal is a small backwater town not worthy of thought, let alone nostalgia, and he would do better than to care about such trivial nonsense.

~~He misses it. Them.~~

He emerges from his thoughts in front of what appears to be a general store. Or at least, the alley next to one. Bren is about ready to call today a bad job, when he hears a noise. More specifically, a rather pitiful _mrowwwww_ that seems to be coming from the alley.

He moves forward, painfully aware of the trash around him and the spotlessness of his coat. He casts _dancing lights_ , and after a second for his eyes to adjust, sees the culprit. It is a scraggly kitten, whose fur color is obscured by the thick coat of dirt covering it. It starts to hiss at him, to puff up, but then yowls in pain once more. It doesn't take him long to see the cause- a nail caught in its paw, attached to a thick piece of wood (likely the reason it hasn't run from him) and a rather nasty looking one at that.

Before he allows himself to analyze his actions too deeply, Bren casts _sleep_ , and the kitten slumps. Thankfully, it is not too difficult to remove the nail from the board it is stuck to, and then it is simply a matter of carrying the little fellow back to the inn.

Bren’s breath hitches after he casts _prestidigitation_ and he sees the color of its fur. A bright, obnoxious shade of orange.

_“Brendan! Have you chased our katze into the tree again?!”_

_Bren freezes, halfway up the skinny oak tree that stands behind their home._

_“Nein!” he shouts, and his mother peeks through the slim kitchen window at him, frown visible on her face even from here, hand on her hip holding a wooden spoon. Frumpkin takes the opportunity to yowl loudly and unhappily, the tomcat clinging angrily to one of the lower branches._

_Bren winces. “Frumpkin!! Stille! Stille!”_

Bren stares at the kitten. Cats are excellent predators, good at sniffing out lies. Of all the animals to… take a shining to, certainly this was one of use?

~~And perhaps when he runs his hands through its fur, he feels less unmoored.~~

* * *

 

Bren is seated in their kitchen, listening to Yeza talk on about his experiments- she doesn’t understand any of it. Doesn’t want to, frankly, doesn't want anything to do with that box, something about it just makes her uneasy (everything about this makes her uneasy, really, but.)

She’s eyeing Bren when she catches it. Honestly, the only reason she does is because she’s used to his uniform being pristine to the point she thinks he’s mocking her. So when her eyes catch on what looks to be a patch of _cat hair_ , of all things, she can’t help but blurt out, “Do you have a _cat_?”

And she watches as his cheeks pink, and something defensive creep into his expression, before it clears. He brushes the fur from his lapel, and dismisses her husband.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” is what he says as he stands, smoothing his hands down the maroon coat.

 _“His name is Frumpkin,_ ” is what she catches, ears swiveling towards the muttered words as he passes through the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from sea wolf's "old friend"  
> schatz, sweetheart  
> katze, cat  
> schille, shush


	3. i believe in dead leaves in the wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited: jun 14 2019

After the cat thing, Veth pays closer to Bren. And maybe follows him around. Once. 

_Once_ , she’d caught the edge of his coat in her peripheral vision as he ducked into the alley beside Avi’s store and she’d been _curious_ , okay? Why was he going around sneaking into alleys, huh? It’s _suspicious_ , is what it is!

So she’d followed him, only to see him feeding stray cats. With bread crumbs. From his _hands_. And baby talking to them! (Granted, she can’t actually understand the language he’s using, but dammit, she has a child, she knows what baby talk sounds like!) She just stares, for awhile, before slowly stepping away, thoughts a-racing.

* * *

 

Bren is embarrassed after his indiscretion is pointed out by Ve- _Mrs Brenatto_ , but he does not get rid of the culprit. In fact, he finds himself drawn back to the alley by the store- Avi’s General Store, apparently- where too-skinny feral creatures crowd for his attention. Their ribs show, their ears are ripped, and more than one have milky white irises. When they purr, they sound less like a source of comfort and more like the creaking of rusty metal. But he is attached to them anyway.

He is back at the Brenatto's, three weeks after his initial arrival, slightly earlier in the afternoon than he would prefer, and standing awkwardly in the doorway. The door is open, but it feels rude to just walk in. So he hesitates, and then hears voices.

“Yeza, we really need to do something about the stray in the shed.”

“I know sweetheart, but _what_? I can’t exactly just beat it out with a broom!”

“Why not?”

“Veth!”

Bren clears his throat, and steps through the doorway. Mrs Brenatto gives him a look he does not know how to decipher, before she breaks out into a smile.

“Well, there you go!” she says, sweeping an arm out towards him. She turns to face him fully. “Surely Mr Big Bad Empire Man can take care of a little pest problem?”

Bren tries to process the exchange, and the broom that is currently being pointed at him in a vaguely threatening manner. “ _Was_?”

She nods as if he’s agreed. “Excellent!” shoves the broom- that, now that he's looking at it, is most assuredly not sized for humans- into his hands, before speaking again, “The shed’s right out back, take your time!” and then he is pushed right back through the door.

Bren blinks rapidly, moving around the house on autopilot, ~~the brisk orders and maternal smile bringing up memories of red hair, laugh lines, _Mutti_~~. The shed is a small building, slanted, and appears to be holding itself up with a mixture of glue, nails, and hope.

Truly, he has let himself go. Prodigy of Trent Ikithon, Pride of the Soltryce Academy, being ordered around by a rural housewife- ridiculous. He should throw down the broom, march into the humble homestead he’s just been shoved from, and show her exactly what pest control he is capable of.

He does not do that.

Instead, he pushes open the door, setting the rusty lock aside, and casts _light_. It’s mostly unnecessary, given the holes in the roof, but he does it anyway. ~~Out of habit.~~

It does not take long to locate the stray, but that victory is tempered by a new problem. Namely, the small, wriggling pile of kittens that are mewling incessantly. Perhaps he could have taken the elder to the back of the store, rather than shoo it away, without much fuss. But what is he to do with- these?

There are four of them, and they are very young, if the size is any indicator. Bren halfheartedly sweeps the broom in their direction, and receives a glare from the Mother. The following cacophony of noise that follows seals it. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and sets the broom against the wall.

It takes some time to gather them all into his arms, and sets back for the house. When he re-enters the living room, it is empty, and Bren decides the couch is the safest place for them. He perches on the end, kittens on his lap, the mother by his feet. His attention is grabbed by a quiet gasp.

There, a halfling child is staring at him with wide eyes- Luc, he believes is his name. Luc hops closer, and Bren realizes he is staring more at the cats than himself.

“Can I pet ‘em?” he asks, staring at Bren with wide, sky blue eyes.

Bren says nothing, but Luc takes the lack of 'no' as a yes and breaks into a wide smile, before scampering up next to him.

He tenses, at first, as Luke leans over his chest and strokes the kittens gently. But- it is, nice, and allows himself to lean back. Perhaps- a quick rest before he gets to work couldn’t hurt. 

* * *

 

Veth sees him, sitting on the couch, eyes shut, kittens purring on his chest, Luc clutching at his side, looking very, very young, and she feels certainty settle in her chest- Bren Ermendrud is getting dragged into this family whether he likes it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i'm presenting bren's thoughts in a coherent way- there are some things i wrote specifically as an echo of trent he's internalized, and then there's, as i've named him in my head, "blumenthal bren's" thoughts, and really, this poor boy has no idea what he's gotten himself into.   
> Mutti is the informal version of Mutter, which means 'mother'; it's basically 'mom' or 'mama' (at least, so google says)  
> yes, that is a taz reference  
> yes, i know it's weird to feed cats breadcrumbs. you work with what you've got  
> chapter title is from sea wolf's "priscilla"


	4. something wrapped up in the sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we get a... different perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a little different than the previous ones, and also shorter, sorry! hopefully next one will make up for it, i just needed a time skip and liked this idea  
> edited: jun 14 2019

Trent eyes the openly nervous courier in front of him in distaste. “You are dis _miss_ ed,” he says, voice cool with disdain, and they flee. He shifts his focus onto the scrolls in front of him. He reads the updates from Bren with a discerning eye, and his mouths curls slightly up at what he finds.

_Multiple failed experiments. Consequence of failure made known. Progress assured. Note: close family ties; wife, young son._

He’d hoped this assignment would solve whatever was causing his student to falter- he knew Bren thought he was fooling him, and were he a lesser man, perhaps he would have been fooled; however, Trent Ikithon is not a lesser man. _Something_ has been causing Bren to hesitate, to make mistakes a first year student would know better than to do, and Trent is displeased.

While he would not throw away such a powerful tool for such small malfunctions, it is disturbing. His student had made it through his graduation with a few restless nights, but nothing more; had not shown any hint of disagreement or subversive thoughts.

He’d decided to send Bren away for now, to guard the halfling charged with the Dunamis Project- a simple yet vital task, and one that Bren was well capable of. Perhaps some time alone, with a clear goal, and plenty of time for _reflection_ , was what he needed. If the problems persisted, Trent would pursue other, more, _extreme_ measures. (His friends at the asylum know better than to ask questions, after all…)

* * *

 

_I arrived at the residence six hours before dusk. The homestead is attached to the rear of an apothecary, and it is small, five rooms. A workshop, master bedroom, guest room, child’s room, and a kitchen-cum-living area. Simply furnished._

_Wife is somewhat hostile, but easily managed. The alchemist is skittish and pliable. I have not yet met their son, though I understand he is young, and easily swayed._

_The alchemist has made little progress since Master De’leth’s last visit; I made the consequences of continued failure clear. Progress has been assured._

_Note: close family ties; wife, young son_

_Note: weak willed, delicate constitution_

_Note: simple, if alchemically talented_

* * *

_The alchemist has identified several possible methods of extraction for the Dunamis Essence. I have purchased the necessary materials in his stead, as they are were out of his realm of acquisition. A full recounting is below._

  * _Ritual imbuing mechanism… 20 gold, 5 silver {paid to Horval’s Honorable Alchemical and Arcane Necessities}_


  * _Fractal distillation set [sheeted metal]… 16 gold, 32 silver {paid to Horval’s Honorable Alchemical and Arcane Necessities}_


  * _Arcane oil [augere] … 12 gold {paid to Mortili’s Magical Market}_


  * _Brush of coastal boar hair [size .03]… 3 gold {paid to Ghil’s Artistry Supply}_


  * _Freshly harvested celeste flower… 39 gold* [cost of preservation and shipping included] {paid to Dalin and Qreru’s Faunal Showroom}_



 

~~_Note to self; the strays have taken a liking to small grains- check if Avi’s has any in stock_ ~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as if caleb's one to be commenting on delicate constitutions  
> chapter title from sea wolf's "saint catherine st"


End file.
